


The quiet, before the end.

by protaganope



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 'oh my god she's fuckign dead', Gen, Hamilton predictably gets shot, His final parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 04:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16674430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protaganope/pseuds/protaganope
Summary: Not now.Not yet.





	The quiet, before the end.

A call of  _ Wait-! _ resounds, and he knows not consciousness.  

The first thing he notices, is that his hands ache. He looks down and finds an old world quill, in place of the cursed gun. As though it had been holding back, the rest of the room reveals itself to him. Oak furnishings, old books, the death quiet sound of a house in sleep. There is a single candle, long burned short, bleeding its wax onto the spot where it is sat at his desk, and it waves madly as the door to his study opens with a great gust. 

“Alexander,” Someone says, voice calming and so very achingly familiar, “Come back to sleep.”

He presses a hand to his face and removes the glasses found there. 

“Just a moment.” He finds himself responding, “I’ve almost finished.”

There is a quiet, patient sigh that pulls the corners of his lips upwards, and the person he so speaks to slides up close next to him, resting behind him, warm skin of her front flush against his cool back. And it is a she, for he remembers now. 

“Alexander, my dear.” Despite the years, despite the mistakes, her voice never failed to soothe him. 

“Betsey.” How could be forget?

“You have done quite enough for one man’s work, today. I shudder to entertain that you shall be unable to prosperously perform the same, if you continue this.” She says this softly, and he exhales his soul in a single breath. 

This familiar picture, of known nights in tranquillity, corrupts quite suddenly, and he coughs, one pale hand to his mouth. It comes away wet, red with blood. 

What horror was this?

His Betsey is here, in this place too, though not in the way he saw moments before. She is discomforted, and he wonders, feverishly, why. 

His eyes flick down to his chest, and, ah. 

He’d been shot, that was right. Deep into his chest, between the ribs. He stared at it despondently, eyes not quite making evident his understanding. 

His voice escapes, a weak, wavering thing. He will not go quietly. 

After all,

There is so much work he has yet to do.


End file.
